Aliens: Heart of Darkness
by Garrowan
Summary: Civil unrest on the colony LV-813, Selkirk Grace, brings a platoon of Marines to stop the riots. But, could there be more going on than first thought?
1. Chapter 1

There was no noise, no sound of anything other than his own breathing. No thump as he walked no hum of engines from the ship. Nothing. Only the long, gunmetal hull stretching out into the distant stars and blackness and the gentle glow of light from the portholes.

Corporal Mark Travis was on the hull of the USS Iroquois. Corporal Travis was the ships' mechanic and engineer; a non-com stuck with some of the toughest, most 'bad-ass' hard-nuts in the galaxy. And, right at this moment in time, he absolutely hated them. It didn't seem to matter that Travis was a Colonial Marine, too. To them, he was a POG, a Person Other than Grunt and that was all that mattered. But it wasn't they who had been wakened from cryo' to fix this damn problem.

Travis crouched, rather awkwardly, in his EVA suit over the damaged panel he had been sent to fix. It was affecting the comms array dish on the dorsal of the ship, making the mass of antennas and aerials stretching from Iroquois' nose useless for the moment. Travis fiddled with some wires, used a plasma torch on part of the panel, and then replaced the covering. Done, in about five minutes work. Kind of made the twenty minute wake up time, the fifteen minutes finding out what the problem was, then another half an hour gearing up, seem a little superfluous. All from a thumb sized rock hitting the panel at the wrong angle.

With a sigh, Corporal Travis slowly made his way back to the airlock.

* * *

The Iroquois had been sent out from Marine Space Force Eridani, Headquartered at Helene 215, almost four weeks ago. Aboard was a full platoon of the 104th Marine regiment, 2nd USCM Division. They were answering a distress call from one of the Weyland Yutani colonies, and the silence from a nearby research station in the same system, owned by the ever-present Company. WY had paid well, so the USCMC had sent some of its best.

Travis thought on the size of the force being sent out as he walked through the ship towards the mess. A full platoon, along with the necessary pilots and mechanics from his own 24th Squadron of the 3rd Aerospace Wing to pilot and service the transports. That was a lot of firepower and hardware for a distress call and investigation mission. But, he supposed, this would be the norm from now on. Any distress call in the outer colonies was to be answered like this now. More serious situations could even be responded to with a full Company and additional support elements. But as this was simply a settlement requesting some security presence due to civil unrest it only required enough firepower to level half a city, and not the full thing.

Travis felt a little shiver go up his back regardless as he sat with a tray of food in the empty, eerie mess hall. Travis was in his late twenties, with dark hair and shining Emerald eyes. He was well built, as were most marines. Also, being a grease monkey, there were times he'd had to do a lion's share of manual work. Travis wasn't an ugly man, but he wasn't the best looking kid on the block either. He was just a normal, REMF marine.

The corporal considered going back to the cryo chamber and settling in for the rest of the trip. He checked his wrist chrono for the date.

21st August, 2183. They had left for LV-813 on the 29th of July. Two more days travel.

"Fuck it. I'm awake now. Computer, any more word from LV eight thirteen?"

There was a brief pause, as the computer analysed his voice.

"No more notifications from the colony, Corporal."

"Brilliant. That's all." Travis snorted. Typical colonists. Begging for help with the vaguest of messages, and then nothing more.

Unless...

The corporal shook his head, and stood. He needed to get over it, and soon. It was ruining his prospects in the Corps, ruining any camaraderie between him and the others, and was slowly driving him mad.

"Time to get some exercise," he muttered.

* * *

The Iroquois sped up, returning to cruising speed, now the repairs were complete, drawing ever closer to LV-813.

Selkirk Grace, or by its official title, LV 813, was a perfect world. There was desert, ice, jungle, and grassland on the different continents. It was another Earth. Plenty of fertile soil, rivers, vegetation of which much was highly similar to some found on Earth.

But their perfection was not why Weyland Yutani wanted it.

It also had massive platinum, iron ore and titanium fields below the rich ground.

The man who had discovered it, some five years past, was a rather drunken Scotsman with a bad sense of humour, hence the name. This world was one of the few not to need terraforming. In fact, the world would have been mass-colonised by now if it wasn't almost 6 months travel from Earth, and that WY had bought most of the rights to it for their own use.

There was now a substantial colony of some 400 people, mainly WY employees, but many had families with them. There were several farming families, producing food for the colony, and there was even a small security detachment.

The colony area itself was slowly sprawling outward to accommodate everyone. There were some businesses such as shops and bars, and then there was the Weyland Yutani mining operation, making up the bulk of the colonists.

But there was something rotten at the core of Selkirk.

* * *

"You know the rules of this place; the rules we all agreed on," the darkened figure in the shadow spoke. He had a defined Russian accent.

"You are all mad! Something must be done!" Jorge Eriksson screamed back. He was being manhandled through the forest by two more figures in WY overalls. Not that he could see any of this; he was blind-folded and could only feel the rough hands and hear the multiple footfalls.

Jorge was one of the department heads in the titanium mine. He was a family man, in his thirties. His family was with him, back in the colony.

"You have risked everything by making contact. You have brought the forces of Evil upon us. As such, the lottery is forfeit this round, and you take the place of the intended,"

That sentence brought Jorge's head up sharply.

"No! You can't! Why? What about my family?"

"Do not panic. For your sacrifice to keep the Saviour sated, we will look after them well," the Russian voice continued.

Jorge began to struggle. He shook and wriggled in his captor's grasps, but they held on tightly. He head-butted one in the gut, and he was dropped for a moment. Jorge surged to his feet, his bound hands ripping the blindfold off.

He was in a clearing, on a rise of some hills. They overlooked the colony, some four kilometres in the distance, on the plains.

And the caves were before them.

"No!" he screamed, his terror growing tenfold, making a run for the woods.

A heavy blow landed on the back of his neck. He lolled and fell, face down. Blood covered the back of his head. Jorge struggled to turn, and saw his would-be-executioner.

"I wish you hadn't done that," the man hissed. He was holding a pistol, the grip now coated in Jorge's blood and hair.

The two men who were holding Jorge kicked the prone man several times, before backing off when a low hiss issued from the shadowy cave. They backed right away, back to the cover of the tree line.

"Goodbye, Eriksson. I really wish you hadn't sent that message." The leader of the group said, and fired the pistol.

Jorge bellowed in pain, and blacked out for a minute.

Only minutes later, he came-to. There was a fierce pain in his leg where he had been shot.

Jorge struggled to sit, thinking on how he could escape. He had to make it back to the colony; to his family. He wanted to see his little girl grow up.

His vision blurred the back of his skull in utter agony. Jorge moved to a kneeling position, whimpering with the pain in his leg.

The pain, however, did not deter him from trying to escape. He would see those he loved.

Now below the tree line, the sun was going down, and the clearing was slowly growing darker. Eriksson knew he had to leave, and soon.

He used a small rock to break the plastic cable ties that bound his hands. A little unsteady, Eriksson stood up and tried to limp.

Jorge heard a low growl from behind him. A hiss from the cave. He felt terror spike through his heart as he slowly turned.

In the black mouth of the cavern, there was something even darker, blacker than the shadows, blacker than black. It moved slowly, edging out the cave, slithering towards him, as if swimming through the murky twilight.

The creature came into the greying light, and Jorge lost control of his bladder.

Jorge Eriksson screamed, shrilly and loud for a moment, startling some bird-like creatures half a kilometre away. Then there was silence.

* * *

"Come on my beauties, get up! Another day in the corps! A day in the corps is like a day on the far..."

"Shut up, you stupid Jock,"

"Come on, sergeant, not again,"

"Fuck off!"

The insults came thick and fast. Staff Sergeant Jim McAllister scoffed, but stopped his speech anyway.

"You pussies wouldn't know a rousing speech if it reached over and tickled your balls," he replied, a slight smile on his face. The speech wasn't original, though. He had learned it from another marine who had gone through boot with him, back in the day.

"Whatever you say," one of his marines replied.

On this side of the cryo room, ten marines were waking. These were 1st squad, 3rd Platoon, 1/104th Marine Regiment. Their staff sergeant, an ex-pat from Glasgow, was the second most senior NCO's on-board. And, he was only the second toughest aboard, too.

"Stand to, I want a roll!" he bellowed. His marines were all still in their underwear, some shivering from the awakening process, some still light headed. "Call out when you hear you name. Benton?"

"Sergeant," a tall, blonde woman answered, blinking drowsily.

"Good. Cavan?"

"Yes, sergeant," that was stocky, well-built man with several scars.

"Dalton?"

"Sergeant,"

And the roll went on. Jefferson, Lerr, Martinez, Nassan and Ross.

"Very good, people. Nice to see you all awake and breezy. Gear up, fatigues, and then head to the main mess."

"Sarg, the main mess is there, beside the lockers," Nassan pointed to wide central area about twenty feet away.

"I know that, private! But I want you all dressed, and there, before those ugly arseholes from 2nd squad get there!" he shouted Nassan down.

"Sorry sergeant."

"Good," McAllister grinned. "Right, get to it!"

Around the mess hall, in the little alcoves that held the cryo tubes, similar conversations were happening. Sergeant Liam McVeigh and Klivian Janovic were barking at their marines in a very similar manner.

In a separate room, the pilots and mechanics were reviving too. They had a separate cryo, separate equipment-storage, even a separate mess. This was nothing to do with deliberate segregation, but a simple space situation. Fitting thirty marines into one cryo area was hard enough, never mind the supporting elements.

In the 'grunts' area, a stocky, tough woman stamped through the door, a slimmer, attractive man following her.

"Ten hutt!" the woman shouted. She wore the chevrons of a Gunnery Sergeant. The man behind had the double silver bars of a captain.

Semi-naked marines snapped to attention, facing towards the captain.

"Listen up, people! We have arrived over LV-813. I want you all in the briefing room by 0800. That gives you an hour to get robed and fed. Try and bring your brains with you." The captain said, barely able to control a smile. Jeff Costa was a fair officer, well loved by his marines. He had been at the sharp end with them in several missions, and would never order them to do something he wouldn't.

The room filled with chatter, and friendly insults between squads. Liam McVeigh's squad had an especially strong rivalry with McAllister's, one seeing themselves as the 'Jocks', and the others the 'Micks'. Their insults and banter were especially colourful.

Valenski scowled for a moment, then followed her officer out. She was a hard line, Corps-is-everything kinda girl. She lived and breathed marines, and had no illusions about leaving. She would be in the marines until she died.

As the captain left, the first marines were already grabbing trays of food and sitting down.

* * *

Travis flinched as he walked by the marine's mess. He hoped none would see him as he walked by for his own mess area.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. He was stopped by the ships' Synthetic, Cardinalé.

"Good morning, Corporal. The computer tells me you have been awake for the last two days. Is everything okay?"

Travis tried to turn his body so none of the marines could see it was him talking to Cardinalé.

"We had a problem with the comms array,"

"Yes, I saw that in the reports." The android said, interrupting Travis. Cardinalé had a habit of doing that, and Travis hated it. He scowled and continued.

"I have the higher rating for repairs on communication systems, compared to the other staff aboard. I was wakened by the computer. We were a couple days out, so I stayed awake and put some training time in."

"Ah. Not a problem, corporal, I was just curious..."

"Look who it is! Little yellow-box," a voice bellowed from the mess. Travis turned and saw PFC Brett Faraday, from 2nd squad, was the one shouting. Travis flipped him his middle finger.

Faraday, built like the broadside of an APC, was on his feet in a heartbeat.

"You getting wide, grease-monkey? I'll rip you a new assh..."

"Private, be quit and sit down!" Sergeant Janovic bellowed, standing from his food and setting his stance agressively. "You will NOT speak to a corporal that way."

"But sarg..."

"Eat. Your. Food." Janovic emphasised each word. Travis nodded gratefully to Janovic, who just sneered before speaking back. "You should head off, corporal, before something bad happens."

Travis sighed deeply, nodded to Cardinalé and walked away quickly. Behind him, he could hear the jeering.

"Bastards," he grunted. Travis headed for his own mess. The mechanics there may not like him, but they didn't treat him with such utter hate, either.

At least, not yet.

* * *

"3 Platoon, listen up!" Valenski bellowed, trying to get the chat to the minimum. There was just over fifty personnel squeezed into the briefing room; privates had to stand around the exterior of the curved chamber, packed into the passageways.

Costa could always have called an officers and NCO meeting, and then they would pass it to his marines, but that wasn't the Captain's style. He wanted to personally tell his boys and girls what situation they may be going into, face to face. Costa walked in, Valenski bellowed the necessary alert, and the troops came to attention.

"As you were. Right, ladies and gents, here is the situation; we have the colony of Selkirk Grace on LV Eight Thirteen..."

"Did the sarg name that place or something?" corporal Jefferson hollered. There was a little guffaw from first squad.

"Keep it doon," McAllister muttered. More laughter.

Valenski let them have their fun, but knew when to shut them up as well. "Enough!"

"Thank you, Gunny. As I was saying, the colony, Selkirk, is a big one. Four hundred and thirteen colonists. Gateway received a distress call from one of the Mining Administrators, saying there was some civil unrest. There was no more details, but according to the message this is a simple miners' strike or some such. No bugs, no aliens, no androids. Nothing fun,"

There was an audible groan from all involved.

"There is some good news. In what we hope is a totally separate circumstance, Weyland-Yutani have lost contact with the scientific research station over EG-345, a gas giant at the furthest extreme of the system. So, we will be splitting into two groups to sort this one out."

"Who is going where, sir?" McVeigh asked. Unlike McAllister, 2nd Squad's sergeant's accent was completely Brooklyn now, no hint of his ancestry in his voice at all. His hair wasn't even ginger, which often led to many the disappointed marine looking for an easy punch line.

"Well, sergeant, the plan is to send two squads to Selkirk Grace, with three dropships and an APC. They will take control, and sort out any disturbances. The final squad will go with the Iroquois and the rest of the hardware and re-establish contact. Now, Weyland-Yutani informs us that the base loses contact every couple of months, sometimes for a couple of days at a time, but they would still appreciate if we could check out what's happening. They have also given us the supply run for this month. Third squad, that is your job."

3rd Squad erupted into shouts and groans.

"Sir, come on. Delivery boys?" McVeigh exasperated.

"Liam, your lot got the glory last time we went out. This time it's Janovic and McAllister who get the fun.

"Yes, sir," McVeigh chimed reluctantly.

"Good. Right, pay attention. This," Costa used a laser pointer on a holo-display in the centre of the room. "Is Selkirk. It is a large colony now, in this river meander. It has two bridges out to some industrial warehouses where they store minerals for transport, and some shops. This quadrant here, in the planetary 'West', is the dorms, and this central sector is the heart of the company operations."

The squad leaders, and the four pilots assigned to the mission, took notes in data pads.

"1st and 2nd squad, you will be issued with riot shields and knight sticks. Side arms are allowed, but M41's stay in the drop ships." Valenski spoke up. "I don't want any of you trigger happy grunts to kill these ugly bastard colonists."

"Gunny is right. No drawn arms unless ordered. RoE, people. We're here to help, not destroy."

"Devil Dogs really are the best choice for that kind of mission then," Janovic joked, before saying more seriously. "I thought we were trained to wreck shit!"

There was more laughter.

"Yes, sergeant, you are. But you are also following orders, and those orders come from the people being paid by the Company, so you will do it happily," Costa replied. "Beside, you were never that good at shooting things anyway. That's what I have 3rd squad for,"

There was a small cheer from 3rd, and some jeers from 1st.

"What about MacLean? He's nothing but a badass!" someone from 2nd called.

"Dalton will snap off a hundred metre shot and take his face off," Ross chuckled.

The captain raised his hand for quiet. "Right, settle down. With the ground force, I want Flight Lieutenants Bendace and Dale, and flight sergeant Cole, to pilot the UD4's. Malakai, you are with Bendace again, Fraser, you are with Dale. Cole can choose whichever Gunner he wants.

"Yes sir"

"Aye, sir

The answers came back.

"Good. McAllister, Janovic, we were issued crowd control gear at Eridani headquarters. Get your squads and collect them. Load up the UD4's and the APC. Cardinalé, you will drive the APC. Cole, you have the UD4L," Costa issued his orders thick and fast now. His troops were used to his style, squad leaders taking short hand notes. "Lieutenant Dale, 6 grease monkeys to go in the UD4L with the APC. I want smart guns and pulse rifles loaded, just in case. You can never be too careful. Right, people, I want the planet team ready to go in an hour. Snap to it!"

The whole room stood, coming to attention as Costa left the briefing room.

"Carry on!" Valenski bellowed again.

"How can such a small woman make so much noise?" Warnes, 2nd's smart gunner, leaned forward and whispered to MacLean.

MacLean turned to speak. "Where the hell are you getting 'woman' from, Ray?" he grinned. He was rewarded by a thump on the head from Janovic.

"Get to it, now."

* * *

Two dropships were prepped, and one of the UD4Ls, the vehicle carrying version of the UD4. The loading deck was a hive of activity as 1st and 2nd prepped for drop. Travis was in one of the loaders, slotting missiles into the dropships. He watched with interest as the marines prepared in their own ways. Some, already in gear, held a small prayer meeting. Several of the Latinos, many of them devout Catholics, led this. Others joked and slagged one another. A trio from 1st squad were duelling with their riot shields.

He wished for that sort of camaraderie back. He missed having fun with his buddies.

But they were all gone now...

Travis' spirit picked up as he heard the prayer the Latinos rhymed off, Martinez leading the chant.

"Yea, though we walk through the shadow of the valley of Death, we shall fear no evil, for marines are the meanest mother fuckers in that valley, and we carry pointy sticks..."

Laughing, Travis tried to shake the sense of melancholy off and loaded the last missile.

* * *

"Twenty seconds!" Dale spoke into his mic, broadcasting to all the dropships. 1st squad was in his cargo compartment, 2nd were with Bendace, and Travis and his squad of techs were in the APC in the UD4L with Costa.

"Looks like you didn't get the easy break this time, Travis," one of the engineers, Kelly, muttered.

"Fuck you," Travis snapped back.

"Quiet!" sergeant Bosun, chief Tech, called. He wanted the Captain to see how good his marines were, not arguing away. And whilst Costa was sat with them, Bosun would keep them in order.

"Very good, lieutenant Dale." Costa replied, ignoring the minor argument. "Go ahead,"

Travis was about to snap back a smart comment, when the dropships snapped out into the vacuum, before hitting the atmosphere.

"Here we go," Travis muttered said instead.

Iroquois powered up and sailed away, as the 3 dropships powered towards Selkirk.

* * *

At the edge of the caves, the black shadow faced the dawn sky as three burning shapes entered the atmosphere.


	2. Chapter 2

The Dropships thundered into the colony, jet wash scorching the air. The UD4L stayed in a covering position, weapon-arms extended, making circuits of the colony as the two troops carrying vehicles landed.

Lieutenant Dale's bird came down near the central colony building, the Weyland Yutani HQ. McAllister's squad thundered from the ramp, and took positions around the main entrance, riot shields raised. They looked to the shadows of the colony streets, but nothing moved other than the wind through the few remaining blades of grass.

Janovic's squad, in Bendace's dropship, were landed beside the bridge leading to the warehouses and storage barns. They were to take control of the bridge, but were still close enough to 1st squad in case both units had to concentrate for mutual support.

Still, nothing moved.

In the hovering dropship, Travis stared past the captain's shoulder at the view screen, which was streaming images from the aircraft's cameras.

The colony was the normal, bog standard WY job, with dreary, ugly metal cabins and prefabs, linked together by a series of covered, aerial walkways and long corridors. Rails ran along slightly raised access ways, and well-tread dirt formed the streets. Along the edges of the buildings, grass still grew, away from the destructive influences of the human foot.

All in all, it was not as ugly a colony as some that Travis had been on. Because this was not a colony built on bare rock, nature still had a chance and some influence. Ivy grew on a building, some had flower baskets.

All in all, it wasn't the dreariest place he had been.

"_This is McAllister. Sir, we don't have any contacts. No signs of damage or violence. Do you want me to take some men inside?_"

"No, wait for me to land first, then we will advance. Sergeant Janovic, advance your squad to 1st's position."

"_Roger_ _that_,"

Costa stood in the APC as his dropship came to a hover, and then began to descend. Valenski grabbed a pulse rifle from one of the racks. Costa gave her a look, but the Gunnery Sergeant just scowled, and Costa sighed. No way was he trying to stopping her.

There was a veritable thump as the heavy UD4L touched down. Cardinalé powered the engines of the APC, and then drove down the loading ramp into the colony streets. Costa turned to the mechanics and techs as APC moved on.

"We'll drop you off at the square, here, in front of the Weyland Control offices, colony HQ type place," Costa said, not really caring about the official terminology. "Tab up to the landing pads, here," the captain gestured at the holo display.

"What's expected of us, sir?" Sergeant Bosun spoke up.

"The landing pad should have fuel bowsers. You have your kits here. Get the landing pad set up for overhauling the UD4's."

"Will do, captain," Bosun replied

Costa nodded at the sergeant, before thumping the side of the APC. Cardinalé pulled over, and the door slid open. Bosun led his team of he, Travis, privates Kelly, Frattelli and PFC's Cogburn and Smith, out, past the assembled Grunts with their ridiculous riot shields, and headed towards the external staircase to the large, hexagonal landing pad. Dale's dropship was already circling the structure, waiting to put down.

Costa watched them walk off, as he and Valenski padded over to the waiting troops.

"Sir, Colony offices are locked. We can't get in, and we've tried bypassing," Janovic reported. "Want us to break in?"

Costa looked at the door. It was a fairly tough hatch, but unlike colonies that started off in vacuums, this building had no need for a pressure door. The captain measured up the door, then glanced at the M41 in Valenski's hands.

"Gunny," he grinned.

Valenski racked the slide on the pump-action grenade launcher. Janovic and McAllister moved there squads back, and they all raised their shields. Knight sticks were lying scattered, and their VP-78 pistols were drawn.

"Go ahead, Gun..."

Costa was silenced as the hatch slide open and a group of figures stepped forward.

They all wore the ubiquitous cover-alls that all marines had now come to associate with WY operations.

"That won't be necessary," a man with a thick accent spoke up. "We did not realise it was some valiant marines who were assaulting our colony, or we would have welcomed you with open arms." He said. He seemed to be the leader here. Costa addressed his remarks to this man.

"I'm very sorry, sir. I am Captain Jeff Costa, USCMC. We're responding to a distress call, and since no one responded when we radioed you this morning, we dropped to see what assistance we could render.

"You thought blowing open our headquarters was the way to assist?" the man replied snidely. Costa frowned, but the man smiled slightly, almost reluctantly. "No harm done, captain. Please, we have much to talk about. I am Administrator Filip Dyakov. If you, and your subordinates, would like to follow me?"

* * *

Costa was sitting beside a dreary table in the dark offices that served as the colony's nerve centre. Staff moved around, filling out mining reports, some handling civil business, others doing jobs the captain couldn't even begin to describe. Dyakov sat across from him, with a woman named Fairburn, presumably his 2IC.

"So, captain, as you can see, unfortunately you have wasted your time." Dyakov said, making that almost reluctant smile again.

Costa sighed. "Very well, sir, you've explained that the distress call was made by this man Eriksson, who is now missing. What was it you said was wrong with him?"

"Our doctor believes it is the onset of schizophrenia. He had been acting erratically for days, and then, when we tried to have him placed in the infirmary, he made a distress call and then disappeared into the forest. We can't find him." Fairburn answered for the administrator, the small woman starting to sound a little frustrated at the marine's inability to understand what was being said.

"Do you want a hand lookin' for him?" McAllister asked.

"No, no, we should be okay. He is a tough man, a miner by trade. We have search parties out, we should locate him soon enough,"

"What about his locator?" Janovic asked quietly. Dyakov's smile faltered, only for a moment, but enough for the three soldiers to notice.

"We have been unable to use its signal to track. In fact, that is why we could not contact you. Mr Eriksson appears to have sabotaged our long range transmission and scanning systems."

Costa raised an eyebrow. "We have techs with us who could have a look, if you like?"

Dyakov smiled, and nodded. "Yes, thank you. That would be most helpful." The administrator caught the eyes of one of his workers, who quickly left the shadowy office space.

"I was wondering, captain, why you have such a large presence for such a vague distress call?"

"I assume you have clearance for privileged data?"

"Clearance level Magenta-39-theta," the Administrator nodded.

"So know about regulation Delta 426-control?"

"The one to do with xenomorphs?" Dyakov whispered.

"Yes Administrator. We must answer all colonial distress calls with at least a platoon now. Any sightings, or even possible trace, of the, eh...creatures, has to be dealt with by at least a Company. That was what happened at Freya's Prospect," Costa finished, not willing to speak about that massacre any more.

"Ah, yes, I had heard of that tragedy. But I hadn't realised that _any_ distress call would be dealt with like this. Oh well, I suppose it is safer this way, eh?"

"Yes, indeed."

"So, is there anything else can assist you with Captain?"

"Nothing more than finding us a billet Administrator."

The administrator's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. "You will not be leaving us, captain?"

"I have a unit attending to the station at EG-345, and they are in our cruiser. It will be three days before they are ready for pick up, sir." Costa replied, not mentioning any of the details of the separate mission.

"Oh? Something wrong at Gallipoli Station?" the administrator changed the question.

"Gallipoli?" Janovic asked, confused.

Fairburn spoke up again. "They plough so many resources into a cause that is producing no results,"

"How so?" Costa asked, genuinely intrigued.

"They are experimenting on ways of extracting something called metal hydrogen from the gas giant. Very costly, very expensive but the benefits if it works could be amazing. I'm sure that's boring to the likes of you though, Captain." Fairburn's reply was snidely said

"Actually, I'm well aware of the potential that MSMH has, Ms Fairburn. Fuel, lightweight alloys, the list goes on. But I also know how dangerous the stuff can potentially be, especially if you are experimenting on it. Hell, that could be why contact was lost!" Costa stated, delighted at the look on the woman's face.

"I'm sorry Captain, I didn't mean..."

"Yes, you did. Anyway, we have sent men to investigate. We doubt it's anything serious, but they have dropped out of comms again, so we were to check on them and deliver their supplies." The captain replied, trying to keep as many details to himself as possible.

Costa then stood, pushing his chair back with a slight squeal of metal-on-metal. The sergeants snapped to their feet too. "Well, if you can sort us a place to stay, we'll get out your hair soon enough."

Dyakov stood, and looked at Ms. Fairburn.

"Arrange it, please. They can have the disused C block bunks,"

"Of course, Mr Dyakov. Gentlemen, if you'd like to follow me?"

* * *

Travis knelt, taking a rather unwieldy wrench to part of the UD4's landing skid.

"You better make sure that thing stays on properly this time. The last fucker to mess with it obviously didn't do his job," flight-lieutenant Dale spat. Chris Dale was short, stocky and blonde. He was a stickler for the reg's at times, but in field was often more lax.

And, when something was going wrong, he had a foul temper.

"Will-do, sir. All the techy needed to do was double check the holding pegs were secured," Travis grunted, pulling the wrench around some large bolt heads.

"Yeah, well, the next time I hear my metal screeching, I'll know to blame you, so you better be right." Dale said. He flicked a cigarette off the landing pad and stomped away.

"Fuck you too," Travis muttered under his breath. The corporal was in quite a good mood, despite everything. He was working on UD4, in good weather, in real atmosphere, and not under fire. Life was pretty good right now.

The next moment, his head exploded in pain, stars crossing his vision. He was sure he could see some blood on the leg of the landing skid before his vision crossed again.

Travis hit the landing pad surface, and could just see two pairs of legs, their shins covered in marine armour. He was being kicked now, repeatedly. The heavy boots were making a mess of his torso, and he knew he would have some great bruises.

Travis lashed out, striking something hard, probably a knee, but the attack continued.

"Bastards!" he spat more blood. Travis rolled onto his own knees and launched himself into one of his assailants, using his body weight to his advantage.

"Watch the little shit," he heard a voice say in pain. It sounded a lot like Brett Faraday.

Faraday punched the back of Travis's neck, knocking him down again.

"This is what you get, you little cowardly shit. You don't back out on the Corps without getting some punishment," the big man hissed.

"Lucky you got your transfer, eh? Otherwise, you would have been chopped with the rest of the Company, eh?" the other said, holding Travis by the hair so Faraday could hit him more easily.

It was almost certainly private Rude Salvatore, also from 2nd squad.

Faraday drew his fist back for a massive haymaker.

"Yellow bastard," he snarled and swung.

There was a meaty *thunk*, but no explosion of pain and snap of bones followed.

PFC Awin MacLean held Faraday's fist tight in his own.

"Enough. Now."

"Who the hell do you think you are, MacLean? You sticking up for this coward?"

"No, but I won't see marine's beat on each other when civvies are around. Let him go," that comment was directed at Salvatore.

"Fuck you, man!" the Latino snarled.

Faraday, almost a head taller than MacLean, tried to swing his left fist round. MacLean moved inside the arc of the arm, so the fist rattled off the back of his battle plate. MacLean head-butted Faraday in the jaw, and the bulky form crumpled.

"Let him go," MacLean repeated.

Salvatore let the mechanic go and grabbed Faraday. The two men struggled into a decent standing position, and started to head from the landing pad. Faraday hissed through his pain.

"This ain't over. Squad loyalty, man. Squad loyalty. You'll pay,"

As the attackers left, Travis struggled into a sitting position. "Thanks,"

MacLean grunted and helped the corporal up. "I didn't do it because I like you; but you're another marine, and you're here so you shouldn't get beaten for that."

"Well…thanks, I guess." Travis muttered.

"You need a medic?"

"No, I'm fine." Travis lied. His guts were on fire, and he was pretty sure he had a cracked rib.

"Right. I'm going to make sure they don't head back up here." Maclean turned and walked away with little more than a nod.

"That's going to leave a mark," Travis muttered to himself, looking at his elbow.

* * *

"Right, this is your accommodation for the next 3 days!" Valenski shouted. "1st squad, you're in here," she pointed at one row of bunks through a dorm door. "2nd, in here. Try not to wander, because I don't want to hear that you been harassing the colonists!"

"Yes gunny," they all muttered, filing into their rooms.

Fairburn had put them in a long, narrow prefab that had originally been worker quarters, before the colony grew larger. They hadn't been used for a couple of years, and were full of dust and cobwebs. Natural light trickled in thin beams, through the thick, horizontal slats of the shuttered windows. The marines didn't moan too much though; they had bedded down in worse.

The building was connected to a larger area of the colony by a long, sealed bridge to the upper story.

"Get your gear stowed and neat! Remember, the colonists have asked that you don't wander through the main Headquarter buildings. They have sensitive WY work going on, and they don't want you grunts selling it to their competitors from Chigusa Corp. So, stick to the bars and the mess, and stay away from the company offices,"

More groans and noises like acknowledgements.

"Then, you can have the afternoon off," Valenski finished. The marines cheered that.

"Could you fetch me my slippers, gunny?" Boreman called out.

"Only if you finally let private Cavan sleep with you," Valenski called back, hearing the laughter from the other marines at Boreman's embarrassment.

"I think you're safe, Boreman, I heard Cavan only likes guys," Iain Ross, Cavan best mate from 1st, shouted aloud.

Valenski allowed a small smile to slip onto her face. These really were some of the best humanity had to offer, no matter how crude they were.

* * *

"Are they quartered?" Dyakov asked. The younger Elisabeth Fairburn was standing before him; her gold hair shadowed by the low ceiling and dimmed lights of the offices.

"Yes,"

"Have you made sure to keep them away from the offices?"

"Of course. I didn't think it was a good idea mentioning it, as it might spark curiosity, sir..."

"They are soldiers; grunts. They will follow orders from their superiors." Dyakov muttered back. "Don't worry; they will be gone soon enough."

"Of course.

"Still..." the administrator mused for a moment. "Have them watched. Just in case."

"Yes, Administrator."

* * *

"Come on!" Faraday shouted through swollen lips.

"I'm coming already. I'll meet you there!" Salvatore shouted back, tying his bootlaces.

"Fine, don't be long." Faraday replied, before disappearing round the corner with the others.

Salvatore looked up after he finished, checked he had his credit chit, and then walked quickly after them.

The private stopped short, hearing...no, _feeling_ something behind him. He looked back down the dark bridge that crossed back to the makeshift barracks. He couldn't see anything, but he felt there was something there.  
By now, Salvatore couldn't hear the others, so he turned and ran after them. As he reached the corner, he hit a cross roads. He couldn't hear the others, and had no idea which way they had passed. There were no signs to show the way. Claire Benton and Dray Malasty, and the corporals, had quickly been shown which corridors to use, but he hadn't listened when they relayed the message.

Salvatore picked one, and walked on.

* * *

Travis sat up from his work on the second UD4. He watched a group of marines from 2nd Squad walk by the landing pad, heading for one of the bars. He could see Faraday, complete with swollen jaw, but no Salvatore. The small group walked on, heading for the louder, gaudiest of the bars located in Selkirk Grace. Perfect for marines. The rest of the tech crew and pilots were already relaxing. Only the corporal had chosen to work, preferring to be on his own right now.

A few small groups of colonists moved away from the marines, deliberately keeping their distance. They didn't seem at all happy with their presence.

The corporal took a mental note to watch the staircase up to the pad for Salvatore, maybe coming for some payback on Faraday's orders, and went back to work.

* * *

Salvatore walked on, completely lost. He called for help, shouted for his buddies, called for colonists, but no one answered.

He had come down a flight of stairs and walked through a maze of corridors. It was obvious he had taken a wrong turn. At one point, he had considered retracing his steps, but that was quite a distance to go back. Salvatore, always a lazy man at heart, when there was no bad-guys to shoot, chose to walk on. He would meet someone soon, surely? His steps clanging on the metal decking, Salvatore noticed the lights here were dim, yellow as if in emergency power settings. He also noticed that there had been very few doors, and the ones that were, were welded shut. All the metal shutters over the windows were down, and he was sure at some stage a staircase had actually taken him below ground level.

All the while, he still felt as if he was being watched. Rude had turned and tried to glance into the gloom a few times, and held his breath to listen. All he could hear was the thumping of his own heart. Each time, he had seen nothing either.

After another ten minutes, the marine stopped, starting to panic. He would be quite a distance from the billet now, and still he had met no one. He made forward again, a little quicker and as he reached another hatch, it opened automatically as he reached it.

"What the hell?" he muttered, walking through the doorway. The room was gloomy, almost totally dark. Slowly, lights brightened to light a small chamber, complete with wooden pews and an altar.

What he saw on the altar was unlike anything he had ever seen.

"Holy mother of God, what the fuck..."

There was a low hiss behind him, and Rude Salvatore to turn as a shadow detached itself from the wall. Rude managed to scream once before the contents of his skull were smeared across the deck.

In its small alcove, one of the security cameras filmed on.


	3. Chapter 3

Costa, Valenski and Cardinalé were making a courtesy assessment of the colony's security. With Dyakov and the lieutenant of the Security, Edward Drake, not far behind, they walked through the small 'police' station. It was a well-made structure just to the planetary southwest of the main Company Headquarters, linked by several corridors. There were bunks for the personnel, and extra for any reservists amongst the colonists.

At the present moment, there were nine full time security officers and one Lieutenant. These were deemed enough to police the colony. The reservists was a small force of twenty civilian part timers who were drafted in if the colony needed extra security, or even in the extreme, defended.

The officers stood smartly to attention as Costa and the administrator walked by.

"They look very smart, fit and healthy. How many arrests have they made since the colony was founded?"

"In the last five years? Sixteen arrests for petty crimes such as pub brawls, the occasional assault, and even one case of theft. Most of these were settled here, without need to take it to a court." Drake said proudly.

"With a population of over four hundred?" Cardinalé asked in surprise. "No murders, no serious assaults, rapes, nothing?"

"We have a good bunch here, sir," Drake replied, frowning at this slight to Selkirk's honour.

"Rather have too little crime, than too much," Costa said diplomatically. "Your men look very smart."

"Thank you, captain. Would you like to inspect our armoury and holding cells?" Drake offered.

Costa looked at Valenski, who simply raised her eyebrow. Drake was one of the few colonists who'd shown any true willingness to engage with the marines, so Costa didn't want to be churlish.

"We'll give the cells a miss, but if you like, we'll check your weapons,"

The security chief eagerly showed them to a heavily locked room. Taking a swipe card from his shirt pocket, he opened the door and led the marines inside. Dyakov remained in the main area, talking to some of the Officers.

"What is your main armament?" Valenski asked.

"Well, we pretty much use the VP-78 as our standard side arm. We have one for each officer, one for each reservist, which are always kept here, and another five replacements."

The gunnery sergeant walked over to a gun rack and picked a pistol out. She checked the slide and the receiver.

"You look after these well," Drake smiled with pride.

"They're no use if we let them go to rust, sergeant."

Costa smiled himself, and took in the scene. There were the racks for the pistols; there was another shelf with half a dozen ZX-76 shotguns and boxes of shells. In a corner sat some unopened boxes of stun grenades.

Cardinalé knocked on a heavy metal case about half as tall as he, and two metres long. "What's in here?"

"Ah, our pride and joys are in there. Fifteen pulse rifles. The extra ammo is there," the security chief pointed to some more crates.

"M41A/2s?" Valenski asked, curious.

"No, sergeant, the humble M41. We don't have any grenades, either, but we are still proud to have them. I was wondering of your lot may like to teach my boys some tricks on the range, before you leave?"

"Maybe, Mr Drake, maybe," a voice said from behind them. Dyakov was standing at the armoury door. "Sorry to interrupt, but there is a comm for the Captain. I have ordered it transferred it straight to your own vox sets."

"Thank you, Administrator. Sergeant, Cardinalé, with me please?"

The three marines left the Security station, a slightly disappointed Drake left with his well-drilled officers.

* * *

_"We are nearing EG-345 now, captain. We'll be ready to board the station within a couple of hours_," McVeigh's voice crackled as it came through the comm.

"Very good, sergeant. Keep me updated of your situation. If you can head back any earlier, that would be good,"

"_Yes, sir. Over and out_,"

Costa put the mic down and looked at Valenski. "It would seem we are stuck here for the foreseeable, Gunny,"

The pair were in an office in the billet area which Dyakov had given over to them. They had taken one of the high-gain comms set from a UD4 and were using that, as it would be encrypted, to contact the Iroquois.

"Well, there could be worse places to be, sir." The sergeant replied.

"You think? I'm not sure about this place; there is something funny going on. The people give me the creeps."

Valenski folded her arms and leaned against a metal table. "I had noticed. They aren't pleased to see us. They are going out of their way to avoid us. The bar the rest are in, all the regulars seem to have left whilst we are there."

Costa sighed more deeply than usual. "I know. They want rid of us. We need to make sure that we keep 3 Platoon in order, until we leave. We don't need any complaints from the Company about us,"

"Of course, sir. I suggest we find something for 2nd squad to do then, because they are the..."

An alarm started blaring in the Weyland office block. The two listened for a moment, hoping it would stop, but it was not to be.

"Shit." Costa said, heading for the door.

* * *

Travis was working on the missile rack of one of the UD4's when he heard the clump of boots. The corporal turned to see Gunnery Sergeant Valenski and a detail from 1st squad.

"Corporal, you will have to come with us."

"What's going on, Gunny?"

"Corporal, where were you two hours ago?"

"Here, sir, working away. Why?"

Valenski sighed. She had had to bring members of 1st squad, for fear that 2nd would tear Travis apart.

"Rude Salvatore has had his skull caved in. We know you two fought, so you will have to be detained until we can confirm your story,"

"But Sergeant! I was up here the whole time! I..."

"Was anybody else here?"

"No, Gunny." Travis said, suddenly realising his predicament.

"Have you any tool you could do such damage with?"

Travis, now beyond words with shock, nodded mutely, and handed over his wrenches. The Sergeant passed them to Cavan and Martinez.

"Will you come peacefully?"

"I have done nothing wrong. And you have pulse rifles sir." Travis smiled wanly. "I didn't do it,"

"Come on," Valenski said sadly. Cavan and Martinez, their wrath barely contained, flanked Travis and they marched him away.

From the shadows of one of the civilian buildings, a small figure watched the events with a sense of fear and trepidation.

* * *

"I am sorry about your marine. I understand it was one of your own who did it?" Dyakov asked with what seemed genuine sympathy.

"Thank you. However, we are only pursuing one possibility. The reason I am here again is to ask if we could have access to the security footage from the area he was found, and the landing pad, please?" Costa frowned a little, but held his patience.

Dyakov nodded to one of his workers. "Of course you can, captain. Fredrickson, bring them over, please?"

A small, balding man hurried over, and placed two small discs in Costa's outstretched hand.

"I hope you find what you need."

The captain nodded, and for the second time that day left the dark office space.

"We have him in a room, under guard by two of my best." Valenski said as Costa entered their makeshift office.

"Good. I have the security disks. I suggest we give them a perusal."

"Sir, I don't like Travis, but I don't think he did it,"

"Well, I'll review the evidence. Right, sergeant, it's starting to get dark. I want you to take 2nd squad, and head into the forest. Try and hunt down that missing colonist. I'm having techies look at their comms systems, see if they can uncover anything."

"Will do, captain. Should we take rifles?" Valenski asked, face grim.

Costa hesitated. After a moment, the feeling in its gut swayed him. "Yes. Definitely. I want you to head out as soon as you possibly can without being seen."

Valenski nodded, and was out the door in a heartbeat. For once, she didn't bellow for her troopers.

The captain slotted the first disc into his terminal as the Gunnery Sergeant left.

The hazy, grey image showed the long, empty corridor. Costa had to fast-forward until he saw Salvatore, wandering along the corridor, shouting, calling for help. All the captain could see was Salvatore's mouth moving in an eerie parody of the actual event, no sound linked to the cameras. There was a brief crackle, some static, then Salvatore again, wandering closer to the camera along the dark corridor. He stopped at a doorway that had opened, its light bathing him in lighter grey. There was another crackle of static, and then Salvatore was lying in a pool of blood, his skull smashed.

"Damn it," Costa muttered. "Not a fucking sight of the assailant."

The captain rewound the image, but the static hit at the same point, each time. The captain removed the disc, and then used the second one.

This disc showed Travis working on the UD4's. There was a lot of footage on this disc, of routine repairs. There was the whole fight, showing Faraday and Salvatore jumping Travis, and MacLean intervening. Costa watched Travis check the bruises, and return to work. The captain hit the fast-forward again, passing the many jobs Travis did on the Cheyenne dropships.

At one point, Travis stood, holding one of his wrenches. There was a crackle of static, and then he was gone.

"What the..." the captain leaned forward, surprised and intrigued. The clip sped on at triple speed, until finally, Travis returned to view round the back of one dropship.

"That's it, then." Costa growled, standing. "Cardinalé?" Costa hit his mic.

"Yes, captain?" the droid's voice came back after a short pause.

"I want you to go over this footage. Link to the mainframe if necessary."

"Of course, captain. I will be there shortly. Where will you be?"

"Talking to Travis. I want to know everything that has happened. Even if I have to beat it out of him."

* * *

Valenski lead 2nd Squad out into the forest. They had their shoulder-mounted flashlights activated, and two of the troopers carried motion trackers with them, scanning the forest before them. It was a poor situation, with the numbers of possible fauna, but in order to find the missing colonist, it was the best they had.

"Sarg, why are we out here?" Malasty complained. "It's not up to us to find this psycho colonist."

"The captain has offered your services to the Company, and you will gladly do as you are told," Valenski muttered. She watched the flashlights. The marines were in a long rank, four metre spread between each. MacLean was well away from Faraday, until things had cooled down.

"Shouldn't we be trying to find out who killed Rude?" corporal Chan asked.

"Isn't it obvious? It was that little coward Travis," Faraday spat. "The captain should hang the little bastard,"

"Uh, I heard they got 1st squad to take him into custody," Podowski threw in his two cents.

"Shut up, Podowski, if you know what's good for you," Janovic snapped. "Anything on the motion tracker?"

"No gunny. Nothing."

"What I really want to know, is why MacLean is still here. Surely he is a suspect too?" Podowski continued regardless. "I mean, he threatened Salvatore and beat the crap out of Faraday..."

"He didn't beat the crap out of me," Faraday growled, causing the smaller marine to start slightly.

"Still, he could easily have done it too. He's a little mad himself, if you ask me,"

"Podowski, would you please like to observe a little noise discipline?" Janovic snarled quietly. "Or do you want anything out here to hear us?"

"Come on, sarg, what good is being quiet? If this colonist really is crazy, then he'll run off when he sees the flashlight. Why does me being silent change that?"

"Because you would have heard me creeping up behind you," a voice whispered in his ear.

"Contact!" Podowski screamed, firing off a round. The others turned their flashlights, but when they saw, they laughed.

MacLean was standing behind Podowski, holding the man's rifle pointed upward, his other arm around the loudmouth's throat. The expended round had gone up, through the branch cover.

"I...grrrl...I was only joking, MacLean...urg...let go, man!" Podowski pleaded.

"Just thought you should know, I was in the bar from the fight right up until Gunny called us out. On camera, dip shit. Now, think before you take a dump out your mouth again,"

"Put him down, PFC," Valenski muttered, walking on. "Move it the whole of you. Nobody told you to stop working,"

The marines laughed, even Faraday allowing a slight grin. MacLean grinned, let Podowski go and trudged back to his end of the line. He flicked his torch back on as he went, chuckling away to himself.

"Needing new underwear again, Podowski?" Chan asked, grinning.

"Yeah, well fuck you guys! He coulda been anybody! You wouldn't have been laughing if he was a bug, you assholes,"

"Keep moving, hero," Janovic called out.

"Yeah, like I can trust you guys. Assholes." Podowski whined. The squad moved deeper into the forest, so that soon, the beams of white light were constantly blocked and flickered as tree boughs passed between them and his view.

"Guys? Guys?" Podowski crooned, taking a few steps forward.

* * *

He felt something grab at his helmet, and turned on it with a whimper, pulse rifle aimed.

Illuminated in the strong, surgical white of his torch, was a strong branch, reaching and pulling in the breeze like the grasping limbs of an unseen foe.

"Shit," the marine breathed before running off. "Wait up, guys, wait up!"

Travis sat in the locked room, stripped to his fatigues. He had an olive drab vest on, and his lean, muscular frame was on display. His Corps tattoo could be seen, but unlike many Devil Dogs, he had no others.

Around his neck, beside his dog tag chain, there was a finer, golden chain, with a two gold rings attached.

Costa took all this in as he sat in front of the corporal.

"Tell me, Travis. Why the men don't like you,"

"Why do you think, sir?"

"There are rumours, corporal. And, believe it or not, I haven't seen your record."

Travis sighed. He really had no urge to. But Costa was looking at him intently.

"I was meant to go on the Freya's Prospect mission."

Costa held his breath a moment. "Ah. It's true then,"

"What did you hear, then? Sir."

"That you transferred out when you heard that you were going to a combat area. And that everyone is now K or MIA."

"No, sir. I transferred out before we heard where we were going. I found out about the BG-386 a week after getting into the 24th Squadron,"

The incident they were talking about had happened on a another Weyland-Yutani world, where Weyland himself had been rumoured to be present. There had been a distress call from one of the higher-ups in the Colony there regarding xenomorphs, and a full Company had been sent out to secure the area and protect the civilians.

But something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. Their cruiser was destroyed by an unidentified ship, and then contact was lost. When another marine force was sent to investigate, all they found were xenomorph corpses, dead colonists and slaughtered marines. The tell-tale signs of bug kills were everywhere, but others had been flayed, beheaded, strung up like grizzly trophies of some kind of hunt. Not one marine was found alive, although a few were unaccounted for.

"Why did you want out? It's not normal for men to leave their buddies before a mission, dangerous or not," Costa looked the corporal up and down.

"I have my reasons, sir. Good reasons," Travis replied, and refused to say more.

"Feel like divulging?"

The Tech corporal said nothing.

"Fine. Tell me what happened this morning."

Travis coked an eyebrow. "Soldiers fight, sir. I lost, MacLean helped me."

"It was a little more than that, but okay. What happened after it?"

"I went back to work, sir. The next I saw was the unit heading to the bar. Without Faraday,"

"We have CCTV that shows you working, and then part of it shows you as gone from the landing pad,"

"I was on that thing all damned day, sir, until the gunny came and arrested me,"

"Can you explain why the footage shows different?"

"No, sir, I can't. Maybe I was round the other side of the Drop, or the camera was at a bad angle. I don't know." The corporal was starting to get frustrated.

"Salvatore was hit with a heavy object, burst his skull open," Costa showed Travis a still from the security camera in the corridor. The corporal didn't flinch.

"Check my tools, sir. Check them."

"I will, corporal, don't worry. Look at me, corporal."

Travis looked up, and Costa caught him with a glance, his own dark eyes piercing into the tech's lighter blues.

"Did you do this, a revenge killing?"

"No, sir. I would never..."

"I think I believe you. Now, I am keeping you here for your own safety, more than anything. I'd like to believe you didn't do this. But if I find any evidence, any concrete evidence, I will nail you right to the wall."

"Yes, sir. I hope you would, to any man who did that," Travis gestured to the still.

Costa grunted, and then let himself out.

Travis, suddenly noticing, placed the gold chain back inside his top.

* * *

"Sir, something strange is going on." Cardinalé muttered as the captain strode into the make-shift office.

"What is it?"

"These data feeds, no matter how much I clear them up, and no matter what times I play them back at, the interference always comes back at the same time."

"So it's not accidental?"

"Well, there is a 21.172% that it may be, but the higher likelihood is that it is deliberate. But it will take some time for me to check."

"Do it, Cardinalé. I want to know if Travis did this."

"Sir, for what it's worth, I can't detect any of the tell-tale signs of a lie from him,"

"Nor do I, and I'm no android. But we can't ignore this. I woul..."

"Sir?"

The captain swung round to see McAllister standing in the darkened doorway.

"Yes, Staff sergeant?"

"Sir, there is something funny going on. We were checking our gear, and when we checked the motion trackers, we didn't get any readings," the burly Scotsman said, worried.

"Are you sure they were working?" Cardinalé made a noise like a sigh. The android tried his hardest to imitate human responses. It rankled with the sergeant a little.

"I took them to bits, and reassembled them myself. Then checked them by sending marines outside. They were working within about five metres. We didn't get anything further out. Either the whole colony is standing still, or something funny is going on," McAllister frowned even more deeply.

"Hell. Stand to, Sergeant."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Stand to. Something funny is going on here. Stand to,"


	4. Chapter 4

"Thanks Cheyenne 3 Echo. Head back to base," Valenski spoke into her mic.

"_Affirmative_. _See_ _you_ _back_ _there_."

The roar of the engines slowly faded away as the UD4 headed back to Selkirk. It hadn't been able to uncover anything new, just some crags and a few caves sprinkled around, a few klicks away. It's departure sparked some groans, and some outright complaints.

"Damn it all, we aren't going to find anything here. And it's already getting light!" private Jane Boreman wailed. "Can't we head back to the bar...er, colony?"

"No, we can't, now shut it!" Valenski growled. Boreman didn't argue.

"Anything on the motion trackers?" the gunnery sergeant asked voice still tight with annoyance.

"No, Gunny. Nothing at all, only us. Nothing outside five metres."

Janovic looked surprised. "What?"

"We are getting _nothing_, Gunny. No animals, no people, no movement large enough to register. They aren't reading."

Valenski swore loudly. "Okay, ten minute rests top, work on them, get them fixed. Chan, Warnes, Faraday, MacLean, Malasty, take post and keep watch. Podowski, Boreman, help the sergeant with the trackers."

"Yes ma'am,"

"Sarg!"

"Aye, gunny,"

The Marines set to work. Valenski could definitely hear animals, so she was sure it was just the motion trackers malfunctioning. Never hurt to check.

* * *

"This is getting out of hand," Fairburn hissed. "They snuck a squad out to search for Eriksson! It's bad enough that one of them was murdered finding the...the room, but now..."

"I know, but we can't do anything just now. They don't trust us, and we would only be making things worse to confront them now."

"Filip, what happens if they reach the caves?"

Dyakov frowned at the use of his first name. "We won't let them. I will take steps, if I have to. So far, they are making a wide loop, and are about five kilometre from the caves. They won't find it for a couple of hours. And I have already sent a few...watchers...out. To keep tabs."

"That's something at least. I am worried about the captain, though. I think he may get suspicious." Fairburn suggested.

"I agree. But if we do anything to make him more suspicious, then we could end up in a world of trouble. Just keep going about our business." Dyakov said firmly.

"Of course, administrator." Fairburn said, and she turned to leave.

"Oh, make sure the captain doesn't get anywhere near the scene of the murder. I went to enough trouble to give him what he was looking for without him going looking himself."

"Yes, Mr. Dyakov. It will be seen to."

* * *

"We still can't get any readings. This is well and truly weird," McAllister reported in.

"Have you seen anything?" Costa asked. He had been up all night, waiting for Cardinalé's results. His tanned skin was sallow and pale, from worry and tiredness.

"Some silhouettes in the colony building. No one in the main streets, no one going in or out of the buildings, sir."

Costa sighed his trademark sigh. "Not even from the UD4's?"

"They caught someone scurrying from the housing area to the main offices 'bout three hours ago. Nothing after that."

"I'm hearing that word far too often," Cardinalé muttered from his seat. Costa managed a weak smile.

"Maybe it was something we said."

"_Maybe_ you should go and talk to Dyakov?" the synthetic answered, still plugged into the terminal looking over footage.

"I won't get any answers from him. He's been fairly evasive the whole time already. They don't want us here, and I think it has something to do with that room. The one Rude was murdered outside,"

"But, if it was Travis, then what does it have..." the Staff sergeant began, but Costa quickly cut him off.

"I don't think the corporal did it. But he was an easy fall guy,"

"Surely not one of the colonists then?" McAllister seemed surprised.

"Possibly. We won't know until Cardinalé is finished." Costa loaded the sentence with meaning.

"I get the hint, sir. Almost done,"

"About time." The captain said, only half joking.

There was a roar above them as an UD4returned to the landing pad. "How have the sparks been getting on since Travis was locked up?"

McAllister looked a little disturbed. "You should probably ask sergeant Bosun about his men, sir,"

Costa scowled, not used to his Marines answering back to serious matters. "I'm asking you."

McAllister breathed deeply. "They're a little annoyed. They weren't best of friends with Travis, but the way they see it, a pair of Grunts pound on one of them, and nothing happens, then as soon as Salvatore went down, we blamed a tech."

Costs just nodded. It was a fair enough point. To the regular marines, it didn't seem like they had pursued any other leads.

"Do any of them want to visit Travis?"

"A couple, actually. Should I let them?"

"Yes. Let them know we're treating them the same as any of us."

"Yes, sir." McAllister left, to let the techs know.

"Captain!" Cardinalé said suddenly. "Sir, I have something."

"You recovered the lost fragments?" Costa asked hopefully, rushing over beside the android.

"No. Unfortunately, there is no other way of recovering it."

"Why?"

"It has been deleted deliberately. That's what I found. Definite 'tool' marks from a deletion."

Costa snapped his fingers. "I want a look in that room. Get Privates Ross and Nassan, they're pretty good scouts. I want them here in ten minutes."

"Sir," Cardinalé went to fetch the troopers, stopping at the door. "What about Travis?"

"We'll let him out when we get back. There is still a chance, a small chance, it was him. Let's not take the risk until we know all the facts."

* * *

"Hey, man, the captain said we could visit," Redjacq said. "How are you coping?"

"Not too well. But I think the captain believes me," Travis replied.

"Mark, did you do it?" Nathan Bradley, Travis' only other best friend after Redjacq, asked seriously.

"No, no I didn't. I wish I had, the beating they gave me, but I didn't."

"You should have, man. Look at you, there was no need for what they did." Bradley said tersely.

"They think I'm a deserter." The corporal said simply.

"Didn't you explain why?" Redjacq asked, shocked.

"He never told us," Bradley muttered. "But we never thought the worst of him,"

"I don't have to explain myself to those grunts. And I'm sorry I haven't told you guys, but really, this one stays with me."

The other two looked at each other, but didn't press it. They found places to sit in the dingy storage room.

"Any luck finding out what really happened?" Travis asked hopefully.

"No. And I don't think the grunts care. They have their suspect, and he's a tech, and that's good enough for them," Bradley spat.

Travis shook his head. "You wouldn't think we were all on the same side, would you? So, how long can you guys stay?"

"That jock sergeant? He said we can stay a while Doors gotta be locked, but we'll hang around, keep you company."

"Thanks guys," Travis replied, taking the proffered smoke Bradley held out. "I could do with it right now,"

* * *

Costa and the two privates, Ross and Nassan, snuck through the corridors from their billets. Since the murder, the access hatch at the closed bridge had been welded shut. Costa checked for cameras, and Ross used one of their cutting-torches to open the crude, quick tack-welds that had been used.

After prying open the door, the marines stalked along, sticking to the shadows. They had ditched their body armour and helmets, going in fatigues and carrying only their side arms.

As they advanced, they spotted a camera, facing the other way, slowly turning on its joint. Nassan moved along the corridor in three silent, light steps, and turned it so it faced into the alcove. He heard a ping as he broke the turning mechanism.

"That won't be bothering us," the Indian whispered. Costa nodded, satisfied.

The two marines followed the maze of corridors, using the plans the Dyakov had provided to appease the captain. The administrator obviously never thought Costa would be using them to find the place.

The motion sensor Ross carried was picking up their own movement, but nothing else. Costa wasn't sure it had been fixed, but Sergeant McAllister had insisted they were working, so he had brought one anyway.

"Jesus, how far is this place?" Ross moaned

"Shouldn't be much further," Costa replied. "Have you noticed how many of these doors are welded shut? It's weird."

"It's not fucking normal, sir." Nassan hissed. "I got a bad feeling about this," He was a good scout, but easily spooked sometimes. Silent, deadly, he was superstitious to the core, and still followed many of the Hindu beliefs he was raised with.

"You always fucking say that, man! You got a bad feeling. You really do like to spook us, don't you?"

"Shut up, now!" Costa snarled through his teeth. "We're here."

Ross moved the camera that was filming outside, and the marines moved up to the door.

Costa went to open the door, but it slid open for him. A yellow glow filled the corridor, and the men moved in to secure the room.

"Holy...Shiva, watch and protect us," Nassan said aloud, holding a little charm that dangled round his neck.

"What...the hell..." Ross said, a little less eloquently.

The room was covered in a warm golden glow, and had two long, deep files of pews, almost like a church.

There was a large table, an altar almost, at the far side of the room. On it, with a wreath of flowers, was a xenomorph's arm, from the elbow down.

"Is that...part of a bug?" Nassan asked the captain. But Costa didn't answer. He was staring at the other items on the altar, just above the bug-arm.

There was some sort of half-breast plate. It was scarred with claw marks, perfectly sized with the xeno arm below it, and there was an acid burn dimpling it.

Above it, there was a skull, impaled on a pole.

"That's...really...not human." The captain muttered.

"Have you ever seen anything like it?" Ross whispered.

"Demon." Was all Nassan would say.

The skull was large, bigger than a man's, and had a flat, rounded crest, almost like the shell of some ocean crustacean. Below the deep-set eye sockets was its jaws. And that was the strangest part. Although it had an almost humanoid maxilla and lower mandible, these both had long fangs instead of regular teeth. But the biggest difference was that it had four longer, protruding, almost insect-like mandibles on the outer side of the more 'normal' part of its mouth apparel.

"That musta come from one ugly mother fucker," Ross couldn't help himself.

"That's definitely XT, but it ain't no bug I've ever seen." Costa said, moving forward. He held his pistol steady, as if the Xenomorph arm or XT skull would come alive. He crept closer, holding out his free hand to touch it.

"I wouldn't do that, if I was you," a firm voice said, causing all three marines to start. They turned to see two of the colonies security guards, and five colonist reservists, standing with pulse rifles and shotguns pointed. One had a M42 sniper rifle. Where the hell had that come from?

"What the hell is going on?" Costa growled. He could see the woman, Dyakov's second, in front of the armed men, a pistol in her small hands.

"I really wish you hadn't found this place, captain. It gives us no joy to do this. As you can see, we have you outgunned, outnumbered and outmatched. Surrender and you won't be harmed."

"They ain't got no-one outmatched," Ross hissed, his own VP-7 aimed.

"Lower your guns. Don't waste yourselves. McAllister will mount a search when we don't return."

"Oh, I don't think so." Fairburn smiled cruelly.

* * *

"What the hell was that noise?" Bradley asked

"Sounded like a pulse rifle," Redjacq replied. "Guard, open up!" he called.

Travis didn't know why, but a tingle went down his back. "Don't. Keep quiet."

"But..." Bradley began.

There were a few more shots, a scream, and then calls to surrender. A second later, they heard a Scottish accent angrily tell the aggressor to "get tae fu..." before a bang detonated in the next room, sounding a lot like a grenade. Then the Scottish accent, no doubt McAllister, just as angrily, accepted the surrender offer.

"The colonists just turn on us?" Redjacq whispered.

"I don't know, but something is going on here. Something strange. Keep it down; they may not look in here,"

Two of the colony security, armed with pulse rifles, walked to the locked door. One, a tall, thickset woman, put a hand on the latch and tugged down. The lock opened, and she went to pull the door open.

"Hey, come on, Fairburn needs us outside!" an armed colonist shouted from further along the billet.

"We're checking this store room," the other security officer, a slim, snake-like man replied.

"For what? We have all their weapons now. Come on, you don't want to annoy that bitch. She'll put you in the lottery for sure!"

That was enough to get the two security officers, who left the door and moved outside.

"Seriously man, you almost jinxed us there. From now on, shut up," Redjacq growled at Travis.

"What do we do?" Bradley asked.

"We wait until they move on, and see what we can do," Travis responded quickly.

"How?"

"They left the door unlocked," the corporal smiled fiercely.

* * *

Costa walked out into the bright sunlight, hands on his head. Ross and Nassan were behind him.

As they came to the front of their billet area, Costa ground his teeth together. He could see all his troopers, paraded out on the ground. Some were conscious, others were not.

Sergeant McAllister, lance-corporal Jefferson, Specialist Smart-gunner Dalton and Aerospace tech's Kelly and Sergeant Bosun were all kneeling, their own hands on their heads, with colonists pointing shotguns and VP-78's at them. Behind them knelt the three pilots and their navigators. Costa could see two security personnel and three more colonists with pulse rifles, watching for any signs of 2nd squad.

Marines Lerr, Benton, Martinez and engineer Caldwell were all prone; Costa could see their chest moving up and down, and guessed that the Colony security had finally got to use their stun grenades.

The captain almost stopped walking, and one of his teeth actually cracked he ground them so hard when he saw Private Cavan and Technician Tchalaba. The private was also face down, prone, but had three messy, massive bullet wounds in his torso, almost cutting him in half. Tchalaba was face up, his dark eyes staring unseeingly into the sky, his pelvis and lower abdomen destroyed by 10mm rounds. Their blood covered the ground.

"You bastards," Ross snarled, and received a quick pistol whip for his troubles. The marine yelped, but stayed quiet after that.

Costa and his scout party were placed with the others. He made a quick count; four Security personnel, and seven pulse riles. That left eight of the deadly rifles and six trained men to use them, and God knew how many more armed colonists, were probably going after second squad.

The captain suddenly caught a glimpse of Drake, the security lieutenant, tethered and gagged, beside a prone Cardinalé. The android had a taser-like weapon connected to him, a colonist standing pulling the trigger every few seconds. No doubt the current was stunning the android. They would have had to destroy him in order to stop him trying to save the Marines otherwise.

"Captain Costa, I am sorry about this, but you should not have gone looking where you were not welcome." Fairburn said at last.

"What is happening on this world?" Costa snapped back.

"Things you would never understand, with your crude, warrior mentality."

"You have the arm of a fucking bug on a Goddamned prayer table!" Costa snarled.

"But captain, of course the first thing you would think is _bug_."

"If I'm wrong, tell it to me," Costa urged.

"No. You do not deserve to be brought into the saviours light. Take them to the cells, please,"

"Of course."

The marines were led away, the unconscious ones carried by colonists. Costa went kicking and screaming.

"We'll get you for this, you bastards" We won't let you get away with this!"

"I don't think you will have a choice," Fairburn whispered, almost with regret in her voice.

* * *

"Gunny, the caves are just ahead," Janovic spoke quietly. He had just returned from scoping the area. "My motion tracker had movement, just for a second."

"Right, take us towards them. I want to see if we pick anything else up,"

2nd squad moved up, their pace and enthusiasm starting to rise as they scented an end to this pointless task. It didn't take them long to arrive, maybe ten minutes at the most.

There was a clearing before some low crags. The crags contained a cave entrance that, in the weak dawn light, seemed like a gaping maw, ready to swallow them up.

Valenski spread the marines out, and slowly, they advanced on the cave.

From the black depths, there was a wet hiss, loud and clear, that made every one of them freeze.

"Motion?" Valenski snapped.

"Nothing, Sarg," Chan growled. He swung his smart gun to and fro, but it's tracker wouldn't lock.

In the dark cave mouth, an even black shadow moved to the entrance. It hissed again.

"I know that sound," MacLean spat, aiming his M41.

The shadow began to materialise, become a figure. It had the long, extended head, the back tubes, the long, lethal tail.

It was a Xenomorph.

"Light it up!" Valenski yelled.

"I wouldn't do that!" another voice bellowed. It had a distinct Russian accent.

"Dyakov," Valenski said in a sound that the Xenomorph would have been more likely to make.

Each marine stopped short of firing. The muzzles of weapons on their necks dissuaded them.

"Drop you weapons!" Dyakov called. The marine did nothing, some talking lowly about what they would do when they got their hand on the colonists.

Boreman spun to try and get a shot at her assailant, but the colonist, one of the security reservists, was too quick and pulled the trigger of his shotgun. Most of Boreman's lower skull ceased to be in a shower of gore than coated the ground. The bug hissed again at the noise.

Boreman's corpse slumped to the ground, a miracle her neck hadn't been totally severed.

"Mother fucker!" Valenski roared. The weapon behind her head was pressed harder.

"I didn't want that to happen, believe me. Put you weapons down before anyone else dies!" Dyakov shouted again. This time, slowly, and with great reluctance, the marines did as they were told.

By now the Xeno was crawling over the rocks at the cave entrance; but it wasn't coming any closer. Valenski looked at it, and noticed it only had one arm.

And, even stranger, it was making no aggressive moves.

"How did you get the jump of us?" Valenski asked as the marines were lined up, ready to be marched back to the colony. Colonists and security staff collected weapons and tethered the Marine's hands behind their backs. One moaned at having to carry the smartgun. "There was nothing on our motion trackers."

Dyakov grinned, his face cruel. "This," he held up a small device, about the size of a frag grenade. It had a little button on top, and a flashing red light.

"When we got your messages from orbit, I had my techs make this. Nice little thing, sends a signal that the motion tracker can't penetrate. Made you think there was no one around when we were following you," the Administrator pointed to his twenty comrades, all armed colonists.

"Now, if you please?" he gestured with a pistol, and Valenski started walking, hands behind her back. The colonists surrounded the line of Marines and walked away, into the forest.

"Man, I cannot believe we got bounced by a bunch of hick Colonists," MacLean scoffed, shaking his head in shame. "No fucking way, man."

All the while, the xeno stayed on its rocks, its eyeless face watching them leave.


	5. Chapter 5

"Damn it! I cannot believe those fucking putas!" Costa snarled. He hit the cell door again. The captain, normally the model of composure and well-thought plans of action, was furious with the loss of his men in such a treacherous way.

Costa's knuckles had split in a couple of places, and left small smears on the door.

"Calm down, sir." McAllister muttered. The sergeant was just as angry, but he knew banging the cell doors wouldn't work. "I should have stayed home and joined the Royal Marines. They never mess about with anything outside the Core Worlds"

Costa was in a cell with McAllister, Martinez, Lerr and Drake. The security man sat in a corner, sullen, scared of the marine's wrath. They had all been stripped of their body armour and equipment, only being left with their BDU's and boots.

"So, why you not out there with your scum friends?" Martinez growled.

Drake didn't look up, didn't speak; in fact, he didn't even seem to breathe. He just sat in his corner, staring down.

"Hey, you fucking traitor, answer me! Or you wanna look up now?" Martinez stood, fists clenched. Costa was there in a heartbeat, grabbing the marine by the shoulder.

"McAllister is right, we need to calm down and try to get out of here."

"How? Last I looked, they took everything from us," Lerr muttered.

"Him," Costa pointed at Drake. "I assume you are here because you didn't like the idea of attacking a platoon of USCM?"

Drake looked up, Costa catching his glance and held his own glare. The security chief decided to speak.

"I am one of the colonists; I have been in it with them from the start. But I couldn't justify attacking you. You were only here to see if we were alright, you didn't deserve this,"

"You fucking bet we didn't!" Lerr spat. Costa held up a hand to try and calm the marine.

"How can we get out of these cells?"

Drake shook his head, looking down again. He was mumbling.

"How do we get out of these cells?" Costa asked again, voice growing more impatient.

"We don't! They have guards outside, and the inner cell has no access to any of the lock's control systems."

"What about some sort of distraction?" McAllister offered the idea.

"No. They would have thought about that. They can flood the cells with sleeping agents, and they have cameras," Drake gestured feebly at the small dome of darkened Perspex on the ceiling. "They'd flood all the other cells before you could get the other squad members out. Then it would be us against the whole colony."

"There has to be something!" Costa hissed, punching the door of the cell again, leaving another smear of blood.

"Sir, that's not going to help" McAllister muttered aloud this time. Costa glared at him for a second, but nodded his agreement. "We don't know if they got 2nd squad. And what about Travis? He wasn't brought in here with us,"

"You think he'll help us?" Martinez sneered. "He killed one of our own, and you locked him up. He'll make a break first chance he gets,"

Costa shook his head. "No, he didn't do it. Cardinale' found some damage to the 'evidence' that would have either found the corporal guilty or innocent. There was something odd. And now we found what Salvatore saw, I think Travis may have been set up. He was the perfect choice." The captain finished gravely.

"Still, Lerr has a point sir. Will he help after we beat him and locked him up?" McAllister asked quietly.

"We'll have to see how much of a marine he really is," Costa replied.

* * *

The marines were being marched briskly through the woods, in a long line that wound through the trees. The majority of the armed colonists were clumped at the front of the group, only a handful staggered along the line of prisoners to prevent escape. The line of march went downhill, and despite the sun rising ever more quickly, there were deep pools of shadow covering the ground everywhere they moved. This, coupled with the thousands of intertwining tree roots, and without their hands free to steady them, several marines had already fallen and received solid blows for their efforts.

One of those who had fallen was PFC MacLean. He had taken a particularly nasty blow that, whilst his helmet soaked it up, left his ears ringing and his neck felt, at least to him, six inches shorter. But he had achieved his goal; the marine now had a small, ragged rock in his hand, not the ideal replacement for his K-bar but until he could reach the knife, this would have to do. He made sure it was hidden well so no one could see him working at the cable-ties that the colonist had used to bind him._ Stupid hicks should have tethered our hands behind our backs,_ MacLean thought.

"What are they gonna do with us?" Podowski moaned. He kept his voice down, enough so only a few nearby could hear him.

"How the hell should I know? Keep your mouth shut unless you really, want to find out." Specialist Chan hissed.

"But these guys are like…with the bugs! We all know what the bugs do, what if they're trying to give us to them, man?" Podowski kept up his tirade.

"Stow it. Now." Valenski snapped as quietly as she could. The sergeant was rewarded with a stinging blow from an M41 to the back of the knees, and she pitched forward on the ground.

Several marines swore and cursed the orange jump-suited colonist, and another, one of the security staff, stomped over with a shotgun in hand, ready to help in any beating being issued.

As the man approached, MacLean took his chance. Tensing his arms and tugging sharply, the partially sawn cable tie snapped. In the same motion, MacLean brought a hand round and knocked the shotgun away, the other punching the assailant in the temple, dropping him in a pile instantly.

All along the column of march, marines were cheering and bellowing for MacLean to free them next, and the WY goons were dashing towards him. Some had opened fire already, spraying rounds into the canopy above them. Valenski, ever the battler, swept the legs of one colonist goon and as he fell, she brought her boot back, heel first, into the bridge of his nose, the snap audible even above his wail of pain. She brought her leg round again, but a pulse rifle stock smashed into her skull from behind, and the tough sergeant crumpled, unconcious.

MacLean was torn; stay and fight almost twenty opponents, or flee and leave his brethren to a potentially gruesome end. He started to reach for the fallen shotgun.

"Get out of here MacLean! Go and get help!" Janovic shouted. "Quickly!" the sergeant's voice barked the order almost desperately. MacLean caught the man's eyes, and he knew the sergeant was right. He had to get help from the others. MacLean turned and dashed into the trees, a few pulse rifle rounds striking bark off the boughs all around him.

The captured marines were surrounded a heartbeat later, Dyakov red with fury. Several of his men started striking out at the marines, who yelped and cursed under the blows. He screamed at a trio to make after MacLean before bringing his men to order. Malasty spat a glob of blood at the ground next to a security officer, who quickly pistol-whipped the man, knocking his combat helmet off and drawing blood.

"Who instigated this?" Dyakov bellowed. Not one marine replied. The Administrator shouted again, but no one replied. He cast furious eyes over the stricken USCMs. Janovic glared back grimly, staring the corrupt Company official down.

"I heard you sergeant. You told him to run. This is your fault." Dyakov snarled. He pointed his pistol at the tethered marine, hand quivering angrily. "Do you know what you have done? This could have all ended peaceably but you had your men try to escape!"

Janovic just laughed. "If that helps you sleep at night, good for you. I gave no such order, but I hope he succeeds."

"I need your word that none...NONE…of your remaining men will attempt this."

"No." Janovic said quickly and simply.

"Sergeant, you do not want to argue with me. Here, take this comm and order MacLean back." Dyakov said, clearly losing patience.

"No. And for the record, go fuc…"

Janovic got no further as the VP-70 round blew the back of his skull all over Specialist Chan's face. There were more angry bellows and shouts, but the numerous weapons dissuaded them of anything else.

The tone in Filip Dyakov's voice brooked no hint of bluff. "I warn you now, any more of this behaviour and I will execute you one at a time. Now, you two, grab your Gunnery sergeant and bring her with us."

"Okay guys, let's do what they want for now. I don't wanna lose anyone else," Corporal Warnes called to the other six left in the squad. With a few grumbles, they straightened their backs, and with hate-filled eyes, followed their captors further into the woods. Faraday and Chan dragged Valenski unceremoniously behind them and the plodded on.

* * *

The three men Dyakov had sent into the forest wore jumpsuits that were jet-black, with small WY-logos on their shoulders. They weren't like any of the other overalls worn by WY staff.

Each carried a VP70, and the leader of the trio also had an M41 in his beefy hands. He was also the proud bearer of a rather ugly scar down his face. The man on his left, slightly shorter but with much wider shoulders, was bleached-blonde and looked like a surfer-bum on steroids. The final man was lither, and strapped to his left leg was a large machete.

As they ran, they fanned out to cover more ground, presumably to stop the marine from doubling back on himself. Shadows fell everywhere, and with the gentle motion of the branches they cast suspicious shapes. And potential targets.

With his weapon scanning, 'Blondey' slowed down, stepping gently over roots, scanning for any sign of the marine, but he could see nothing. 'Scar' gestured for him to go on a little more, he himself striding purposefully forward.

"Why didn't we take one of the smartguns?" Blondey asked. Scar hissed him silent.

Blondey was already losing some of adrenaline high at the complete lack of a target and sighed deeply, cursing the USCM for not being more willing to display himself ready for some good shooting. Blondey lowered his pistol and turned back to his compatriots.

He was staring right into the cold blue eyes of someone he didn't know, yet knew exactly who he was.

"But, you…"

"Yes, me," MacLean hissed, drawing his k-bar quickly across the man's throat. Blondey's eyes bulged and his meaty hands went right to the wound which was pouring blood down the front of his jumpsuit, words gurgling in his mouth.

MacLean kicked the man over, as Scar barked a warning to 'Machete' and sprayed the trees with rounds.

He hit nothing, MacLean already lost among the shadows of the boughs. The two thugs dashed to Blondey's side, but the man was already jerking spasmodically as the last of his vital fluids coated the damp soil.

"Bastard! Look what he did to Jacko!" Machete growled. He took a few steps forward and scanned the dark boughs. More light was penetrating the forest floor now, and it was easier to tell what were only shadows and what weren't.

Scar was watching Machete's back from about ten feet away when he heard the thud of heavy boots behind him. MacLean breathed gently in his left ear "You probably should have taken these off us when you captured us," he said, and a bloody marine combat knife flashed in front of his eyes a heartbeat before it plunged into his sternum. Even as his knees buckled and his vision blurred, Scar emitted a fierce, racking cough.

Machete turned to see the marine, covered in his fellow goons' blood, crouched over Scar, slinging the M41 over his back. MacLean stared back, reversing the grip on his k-bar and bringing it up defensively.

Machete threw his pistol down with a cruel chuckle and slid his own blade from its scabbard, the great chopping-weapon easily three times the length of the Private's own knife. Machete gave the huge cleaver several deft swings in well-practiced motions, dropping into a more comfortable stance.

"Come at me, bro," he hissed at MacLean…

Who swung the pulse rifle round in a flash and gunned the thug down with a quick spray.

"How stupid do you think I am?" MacLean snorted derision. Stopping only to grab some clips for 'Scar's great, motionless corpse, he dashed into the trees, in the rough direction of Selkirk Grace.

* * *

"We can't fight them all," Redjacq hissed.

"We don't have to, we just need to get the others out and they can join in." Travis whispered back. And the way it was going so far, it wasn't going to be the most difficult of jobs. The colonists, obviously not experienced at this kind of thing, and left a large amount of marine supplies and weapons stacked in the rooms they were billeted in. Piles of body armour were littered about. The 3 dropships sat silently on the platform, also full of spare weapons and ammo. As was the M577 APC.

"You think they knew what they were doing?" Bradley hissed.

"No even slightly. They should have stockpiled all this gear for their own use. Or to keep it away from us." Travis muttered. It was indeed fortunate the colonists had stashed all their gear here. It meant that they could now take whatever they needed.

"Here, grab these," Travis threw over some marine-issue body armour. Most of the gear all had personal markings, belonging to certain marines. Travis didn't want to waste any time hunting for his own, just grabbed the closest. The other made sure they had their own, taking a few minutes more to locate them whilst Travis fastened his and began sourcing some weapons.

The tech didn't have to look hard. Against one wall were stacked nearly all their M41 A/2s, the platoon's smartguns and several shotguns. Two crates of magazine were even exactly where the marines had left them.

"What the Hell man, you'd almost think they didn't want these," Redjacq said. "Leaving it all here. Must never have expected us to get free…" he let that thought hang there. All three knew what the colonist must surely have planned.

"Corporal, if we get the squad free, where should we head to?" Bradley asked. Travis thought for a moment.

"Get them in here, let them suit up I suppose? We'll want to head for the Iroquois as soon as humanly possible. So we get the pilots to the dropships, and then get sorted for a fight." Redjacq offered. The corporal shook his head.

"No, I've got a better idea. "The security building is free standing from the rest of the colony, yeah?"

"It's got a walkway out from D block," Redjacq replied.

Travis continued. "Standard a-frame, reinforced plasteel bulkhead?"

"Should be, looks the same as any other Company-built hamster cage," Bradley nodded, scratching his jaw.

"Well, the building is more-or less stand-alone, with one walkway to it. It has a small external wall surrounding the compound. We should laager up there until the Iroquois is in orbit. We have enough plastic charge to bring down the walkway too. We can hold out for days in there." Travis smirked.

The marines traded technical data as only mechanics and engineers can memorise. None of the men had seen the colony schematics for more than a few minutes but between them had a very good idea of where all the vitally important systems where.

"So, how do we get over there with enough gear?"

"The APC. Throw as much as we can in there and break them out. Then, the 'proper' marines can retrieve the rest once the techs have rescued them." Travis finished. Bradley and Redjacq nodded fierce agreement as Travis passed them some rifles. "Now, let's see what we can find in here to blow that walkway."

* * *

"They're taking their time," Fairburn said to one of the black jump-suited strongmen. The man stood over here, at once her bodyguards as well as Dyakov's watchman, remaining in the Company control room

"Mister Dyakov would have contacted us if there was trouble, ma'am. It will be fine."

"Yes, I suppose you're right Mikael. Well, I imagine he'll be here soon. Now, if we keep a close eye on the secure…"

"Ms. Fairburn, there is a message coming in from Gallipoli station," one of the WY workers called over. Fairburn got up and took the receiver from the comms panel. This would no doubt be a conversation best kept away from the rest of the workers in the office. She lifted it to her ear and spoke.

"This is Fairburn. Good to hear from you Gallipoli."

"_This is sergeant McVeigh. I need to talk to Captain Costa, now_!" the Brooklyn voice came across in what sounded like desperation.

"The captain is…unavailable. Can I take a message?" Fairburn seemed to take no notice of the urgency in the marine's voice.

"_No dammit…I need to….lance-corporal, go left! Watch out there! Tell the captain I need him no…"_ the voice was suddenly silenced as Fairburn flicked the comm switch.

"If you receive any more communique from EG-345, shut them down,"

"Eh…of course, Ms. Fairburn. Should I log any reason why?" the Weyland-Yutani employee asked hesitantly.

"No, unless you wish to speak to the Administrator directly."

That shut the man up. He knew what that would most likely entail. The henchman standing behind Fairburn nodded his grim approval.

"What do you think they wanted?"

"Does it really matter? We need to keep them in the dark for as long as possible."

"Yes, you're right Mikael. In fact on that note, I have a task for you," the assistant-administrator handed him a data-slate. Mikael nodded once, eyes narrowed, and strode purposefully to an internal phone handset. Fairburn chewed her lip nervously, hoping everything would work out for the best.

* * *

"Move yourselves. You are almost home now," Dyakov called to the marines in his care. No more had tried to escape since Janovic had been executed. In fact, none had so much as spoken, allowing themselves to be lead to whatever fate was due them.

They were in the colony streets now, passing the office complexes and heading to the security building. Dyakov had a very simple plan in regards these marines – hold them, use them one by one in lieu of the lottery, and when the Iroquois came back, he would have some of his black clad…aides…take the Cheyenne dropships and mount a surprise attack. Then all it would take would be some more data editing, and he could pass it all off as a tragic accident on the way to Gallipoli Station.

"As soon as we have locked these marines up, send a party back to find Reid, Martins and Jacko. Hopefully they will have resolved our little problem." He spoke to one of Drake's security volunteers, who nodded agreeably, only wanting to please the Administrator. Dyakov gave a little nod of acknowledgement, and continued to imagine the possibilities.

* * *

"Right, let's make for the APC," Travis said, cradling half a dozen sets of body armour. Redjacq nodded from behind him, carrying as many slung pulse rifles as he could. Bradley was trying to drag a crate full of pulse rounds.

"Don't." a voice snarled quietly from the other end of the makeshift-billet. The three turned, Redjacq dropping two rifles in a loud clatter that drew a harsh hiss from the shaded shape. Travis, holding his rifle in one hand, pointed at the figure in the shadows.

"Let's see your hands. Come on now, come where we can see you." the corporal spat.

The figure stepped forward so one of the dim lights struck his face, illuminating his features.

"MacLean!" the three techs sighed in unison, relaxing.

The marine was a bedraggled sight; bits of twig and leaf splattered across his shoulder pauldrons and chest, blood coating him were it had sprayed from his victims.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Travis nearly shouted, stopping himself and dropping his voice at the last moment.

"Don't go anywhere near that APC yet. Dyakov's bringing 2nd squad in," MacLean muttered quietly, guiding them to one of the narrow window where they could safely peek between the steel shutters.

Below, on the crude colony street, the remaining marines of 2nd squad were marched past the APC and towards the Security centre. Several clumps of colonists and security officers broke off, going in different direction.

"So they got you guys as well," Redjacq sighed, shaking his head. "What do we do now?"

Travis kept watching the captured marines as they made their way past the landing pad, and was turning to reply when three almost simultaneous, ear-shattering explosions threw the people outside to their feet, and cracked several of the toughened windows of the billet. The four men inside ducked down, covering their heads in pure reflex reaction. Smoke and dust rose up in a billowing cloud, and little pieces of debris pattered on the roof of the prefab buildings like some perverse rain.

"What in the name of…?" Bradley coughed, looking up slowly. Redjacq and Travis slowly rose to look, too. MacLean was already on his feet, hand tightly gripping and releasing the pistol-grip.

Amidst the dust, and the debris, the shape of one devastated Cheyenne could be seen. Its cockpit was completely caved in, and the landing struts were buckled. Even more seriously, the UD4L was no longer even on the platform. The pad itself had buckled with the force of the blast and the Dropship, or what was left of the big vessel, had toppled off onto its roof, ventral area sporting a mass of torn, twisted metal where the cargo area had been. The other UD4, towards the back, was smoking, but the marine couldn't make out more.

On the ground, Dyakov was picking himself up. Taking a few unsteady steps, Travis and the others could hear his bellow of anger from there.

"Man, he's really pissed now." MacLean said with a smile.


End file.
